


Through Blood And Tears, You've Made Me Who I Am. And I Can't Tell If I Hate You For It.

by SchonAndDying



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Men Crying, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, i will cry, im sorry anyone who read this did lmao, not really but not happy sooo, one giant thinly viel vent fic, procrastinating on my other fics with this, this is vaugely based off things done to me so dont come @ me, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchonAndDying/pseuds/SchonAndDying
Summary: Flug's arrival at the manor changed his life, and him. For better or for worse. He isn't sure.\\!!HUGE Abuse warning!!//
Relationships: Black Hat & Dr. Flug (Villainous)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Through Blood And Tears, You've Made Me Who I Am. And I Can't Tell If I Hate You For It.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, this is a HUGE fucking vent fic based on my own experiences. Some things I say might not make sense for lack of context on the reader's part and that's because it's referencing something extremely personal for myself that I'm still trying to work through and process. I don't normally interpret Flug and BlackHat's relationship like it's portrayed in this fic, but BlackHat is taking the place of someone for the purposes of this. HUGE HUGE warning for abusive content!!

Living in the manor was to constantly tread on eggshells. To think of the reaction of others before his own. One was to make themselves scarce if not doing work. If not feeding themselves. Being outside of the lab meant being around him. And being around him meant to relive everything. There were moments BlackHat was tolerable, pleasant even. He had been able to be around him for some time and speak to him without _it_ happening. In those moments he wondered if the rest of it was even real, or was he making it all up.

But then he would come into the lab and it would all start again. There's a certain cycle to it all. One where the pressure builds and builds until it happens and Flug's left so exhausted and scared he can't move, or breath, or think, or cry anymore. It starts with the pleasant times. When BlackHat isn't as terrifying to be around. Finished with the actual blow up. Then repeat.

He never actually hit him. Never needed to. Never needed to even move from the lab doorway. He didn't even need to be in the same room for him to strike terror in him. It had gotten to the point where if he sees a top hat while out the few times he's allowed to grocery shop, he has to take a moment to calm down and assure himself it isn't _him_. 

"Doctor," BlackHat says, opening the lab door with little warning. Flug tenses, pausing his work to look up. BlackHat doesn't look particularly mad- but he never does when it begins. "How is progress." 

"It's coming along well, Sir." He says, averting his gaze down to the table and the screwdriver in his hand. “I should be finished by tomorrow morning” 

“I would hope so, as it was due this morning.” He says, hands folded neatly atop the curve of his cane. Flug looks up in alarm, gripping onto the tool harder. 

“You said it was due this Monday, and it’s only Sunday. I still have time.” He knew what arguing lead to. Even if he was right. Which he never seemed to be anymore. 

“No. I said today, Doctor. If you weren’t so caught up being angry at me and in your own little world, you would have heard me correctly.” He says, positioning not changing at all, but tone becoming dangerous. 

“I’m not angry.” He protests, diverting his attention back to his hands, fingers twitching anxiously with the tool in his hands. “But you said _Monday morning_. I’m on schedule.”

“If you paid any attention, you wouldn’t be this bad at your job.” He says, voice a threat all on its own. His presence alone was enough to suck the air from the lab and dip him into icy water. Inside, he feels something is buzzing with pure dread and horror. “You think you’re smarter than me.” 

“No.” He manages, throat already hard to speak through and muscles tensing. “I never do, Sir.” It was all the same song and dance. The same few lines with their order switched.The same argument the same outcome. The same doorway. Stool. Worktable. Glove. Cane. Hat. Grin. Teeth. _Eye_. God his eyes. That look in it made him want to vomit and cry.

“You think just because you know things other of your kind could never think up, you’re equal to me.” Never had he thought this. Never will he think this. He knows his place. Knows to never break free from. And yet he’s never believed.

“Lord BlackHat, please. I don’t think this-” The screwdriver trembles in his hand, eyes glued to it. The muscles in his legs tense until a sharp pain shoots through his calf, forcing him to stop. 

“Don’t interrupt me, Slys.” He snaps. There wasn’t any raise in his volume. Yet. He knew when he needed to. It was too early to pull out all his cards. Flug remains silent, swallowing thickly and nodding. 

"Your hubris is your down fall, doctor. I don't know who you think you are to speak to me like this, but you are not that person." Flug can't even bring himself to look up from his gloved hands. There's a comfort in not having to see him. His face inspired such hate and fear in his chest that it began to hurt to keep quiet on. If he was going for the most evil features, he landed on them perfectly. 

"You can barely do your job competently. It's a marvel you're still alive, how little you care for your basic needs. It's disgusting. You work the minimum hours and still push the deadlines. What makes you think that I can't simply find another human to replace you?" With fingers trembling, he thinks of all the times BlackHat had said the near opposite. How smart he was for his species. How mature. How hard he works, how he could imagine being proud of him if he kept up the same quality work. 

His inventions were the only thing BlackHat ever complimented him on. It was the only thing about him his employer could stand to acknowledge. He would stand in that exact doorway, or sat in the chair in his office, looking over the newest item from the catalog. That's the one thing he speaks to other villains about. How his scientist always creates inventions of death. 

"Why don't you?" He asks, tears blurring his vision and skin hot with his building anger. "If it's so easy, and I'm such a failure? Why not already?" The room is silent for a minute, the air thick and impossible to breathe. There is no shift of fabrics, not click of tongue, nothing but the human of the electricity in the light-bulb hanging above his head. 

"You think I would?" He asks, tone betraying nothing. Silence follows again as he refuses to respond. Either answer could escalate the situation. It was always the same. He backs him into these corners and no exit would get him out without hurting him. "I'm surprised, Doctor." He says. “You have such a low self-esteem. I mean you can’t even look me in the eyes” 

Biting down onto his lips he jerks his head up and meets his gaze. The skin of his face burns as his mind swirl with familiar thoughts as he physically forces himself to maintain eye contact. God, why did he cry so easily. 

“I should be getting back to work, Sir. So I’m not late.” He turns away, breathing again as he adjusts the tool in his hand, wishing and praying that BlackHat would give up—as he never did. 

“Why do you keep that bear?” He asks, evidently still in the doorway, in fact a step in now. He glances up, nervous and bemused. They’ve had this conversation. How many times ave they had this fucking conversation? Ever since 5.0.5’s first birthday, BlackHat had been pressing for him to throw him out. To find a way to kill his child. He’ refused numerous times, faced the brunt of the anger after the infant 5.0.5 inevitably made a noise or stumbled into something. After the ‘Dad’ incident he had tried his damnedest to kill 5.0.5 before Flug was able to get into the room. 

“I like his company. He’s dependent on me.” He says, pressing the screwdriver to the screw but not turning it. Somehow this is worse than if he had actually been hit. 

“Look at me when you speak and say it again.” He says, and when he does manage to make himself look up, he’s another step in. Flug sets a foot on the ground, ready to back away if he drew any closer. 

“I-I like his company.” The words get stuck halfway in his throat before forcing themselves out. “And, he’s dependent on me.” 

“Took you an eternity.” He rolls his eye, cane moving to his side. "He only likes you because he doesn't have to deal with you as I do." Another step forwards and Flug slides off the stool. Standing towards the desk, head hung and skin burning with shame.

"With all respects, Sir, I don't think that." He mutters, glancing over at his feet, praying he doesn't move any further. Instead, his cane taps quietly on the concrete ground as he sets it in front of himself. Chancing a look up at his face, he nearly looks away immediately. The brim of his hat seemed to cast a deeper shadow than it should in this lighting. Grey maw pulled into a unamused frown.

"No. You don't." With a nod he takes another step. Flug skitters backwards, heel knocking into his other foot. That small motion, the beginning of a wobble and the faintest uneasy in his posture, begins the game of wolf and rabbit. "You don't think I pay attention to the others when you aren't looking? The looks they give when you leave. What they say to each other. You're not as observant as you think you are. At least, not where it matters. They're using you, doctor."

There's a dampness on his cheeks and pain in the back of his eyes. His vision swirls and blurs until he can't see past the dark figure of BlackHat, past the pain and the fear. "They're all very vocal about what they think, my Lord." He chokes out, knees beginning to wobble as he backs away, BlackHat's advance even and slow. Cane clicking on the concrete ground. 

"They're _using_ you, Doctor. The only reason they're not blunt with you is they don't want you to kill yourself. You remember last time." He cocks a brown, yellowed razor teeth glinting somehow in the florescent lighting as he grins. 

"I- I wasn't- You were being needlessly cruel!" His back hits the wall. "You don't get to take that out of context!" 

"Who do you think I am, Flug" His arms widen to show himself off. "I am the manifestation of humanities greatest fears, threats, downfalls, miseries. You are but a pawn in my game, a chess piece I move around the board to make ends meet. Without me you would not eat, without me there would be nothing to cloth yourself, there would be nowhere for you to turn. Without me, you would be nothing."

"I was someone without you!" He's nearly screaming, terrified at how close he's standing. The individual wrinkles on his grey skin were visible, the faint smell of cigars and blood clung to him. 

"Now you are nothing." He says evenly, too amused by his reactions to be mad at his outbursts.

He was right. BlackHat had torn his down over, and over, and over, and over again while he was here. Taken everything important from him. Taken himself from him. Taken his free time, his free will, his peace, his security, and twisted it into what he wanted. An obedient, quiet, scared machine capable of doing tasks. He was but a shell of the man he had been when coming here. So full of life and confidence, willing to stand on his own two feet and push back against the immovable force that was BlackHat. Now, he was a trampled pile of gore like all the others left in his wake. 

"No." His whispers, knowing better than to yell when he was this close. "No, I don't need you." He cant stop the tears. They flow and flow, and stain the edges of his bag that were too close to his chin. 

"You're crying?" BlackHat watches the small wet spots expand as the paper absorbs the moisture. Flug turns his head away, pushing a hand underneath his bag to cover his face. "You're really that worked up over nothing? We're just talking." He grabs him by the back of the head, claws tangling in his hair and tilting it back towards him. The only relief in that moment was his bag. 

"Please leave." He croaks out, trying his pull his head away from his grip. "I need to get back to work." BlackHat doesn't move, however. He's firmly in place and doesn't appear to be done yet. 

"Answer the question, Flug." His voice teeters in a threat again. 

"I am." He murmurs, trying again to step back but pressing himself more firmly against the wall, and sub-sequentially BlackHat's hand into his head. 

"Why?" He cracks another grin, leaner close enough to smell the poison on his breath. 

"Please." He whimpers, turning his head away. BlackHat's claw removes itself from his hair and the demon moves away. Even when he does, Flug doesn't move a muscle, all too aware he could snap back at any moment. The tap of his shoes head towards the entrance, the door squealing unpleasantly as it closes. After a few more moments his legs give from under him and he collapses down onto himself, ripping off his bag and goggles to sob into his hands. 

The tears blur his vision as he stands on violently shaking legs and stumbles into his own private room. When he's not able to turn the handle on the first try, a distressed noise rips through his chest as he fumbles even more frantically until he's pushing through the door stumbling into the room. Behind him, he's barely aware of him slamming the door as he clasps his hand over his mouth and his knees give again. 

The air suddenly feel toxic in his lungs, his eyelashes uncomfortably sticky, skin too hot and too cold, his joints aching. Simultaneously, he's hyper-aware of everything, and barely able to focus on anything except the all encompassing rush of unadulterated terror. Somehow, he's on his bed and bleeding. The bleeding's his fault he supposes. Looks like all the other times the bleeding was his fault. Remembers none of the sensation of the broken pencil sharper across his skin. 

ow lucid, he picks himself from his bed and moves to his personal bathroom to clean up. as he's sat on the black tiles, he grimly thinks that he'll need to pick up more bandages as he cuts some in half.

* * *

The next morning was grocery day. Where Flug is allowed to leave the manor and go to the store to buy food and other general necessities BlackHat doesn't care enough to know about. Before he heads out, he equips his Outfitter. A small ankle bracelet that when activated completely changed his appearance for up to thirty minutes at a time before needing to be recharged. That morning Dementia had kept to herself and 5.0.5 had brought him a cup of coffee without mentioning the long sleeve sweater. He had—thankfully—not seen BlackHat at all. 

Being outside is wonderful. The fresh air is heavenly and sun brilliant against his skin. His legs move with a slight bounce as he makes his way down the street, a smile barely contained on his lips. As he walks, he greets a few acquaintances as he passes, and even stopping to have a brief but pleasant chat with an elderly woman he had met on his last outing. 

Once he reaches the grocery store he ducks into the bathroom to allow his Outfitter to recharge. All the while, bouncing excitedly on the toilette seat. There was a clerk here that actually liked him, they would talk to him about their college studies in physics. A topic he thoroughly enjoyed and had even taught them a few things they hadn't known a few times. Once the Outfitter gives it's little chime he unplugs the charger and slips it back on.

Once his disguise is returned he quickly makes his way out of the bathroom and through his list of items, making sure to stay below the budget allowed to him. Thankfully, the line to his friend's—it's weird, to be able to say that—register is short. When he does reach them, they ring up his items and they easily resume their conversation from last month. And when they're done, Flug stands off to the side to allow them serve other customers as they wrap up their conversation for another four weeks. 

Despite being desperate to not let the conversation end and to not return to the manor, he says goodbye and takes his bags and heads towards the entrance. His face was pleasantly warm and cheekbones aching slightly from smiling, but he didn't care. He was outside! 

The joy, however, dies as the manor comes back into sight. Suddenly, his feet drag behind him, the bags feel heavier, his mind clouds with thoughts from last night, the image of BlackHat inches away from his face and the tears build in his eyes again. Blinking them away, he steels his expression and opens the front door. 

"About time you returned, Doctor."

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not have cried while writing this as well as felt like im on the verge of an anxiety attack. But that's okay.  
> Also, don't worry, I had tea to calm down, lmao. I even brushed my teeth


End file.
